


Sherlock Is Really a Girls' Name

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Young Sherlock, genderfluid!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 11:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: People occasionally said that Sherlock was a girls' name. That was okay, because - sometimes - Sherlock was a girl.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the idea of Sherlock being genderfluid, and this is what happened. Disclaimer that everyone's gender identity experience is individual, the one presented in this fic isn't universal, etc.

People occasionally said that Sherlock was a girls' name. That was okay, because - sometimes - Sherlock was a girl.

No one ever seemed to understand, when Sherlock was young. Even Mycroft, corpulent and egotistical but still the only other child worth talking to, thought Sherlock was "going through a phase." Or "he'll grow out of it." Their parents just patted them both on the head and said Sherlock's curls was adorable no matter what and really, what's the harm?

Sherlock didn't want to grow out of it. This wasn't a passing fancy, curiosity about what dresses felt like to wear or how to best apply cosmetics. Either of those were possible to learn regardless of gender. Yes, other people might look askance at adult men who cross-dressed even if it was in the privacy of their own homes, but there was a wonderful world called the theater where gender roles weren't nearly so defined. Sherlock dove into it whole-heartedly.

By age ten, Sherlock was able to pass for a "normal" boy or a girl in public with equal ease. Simple barrettes turned what could be wild curls on a boy into a daringly short tomboy look on a girl. Dresses were off-limits - Mummy had put her foot down at that - but Sherlock became adept at choosing the most ambiguous clothing allowed and affecting whatever mannerisms felt appropriate at the time. Never when Mummy was around, of course. She tried to discourage pink and lace once she realized that four-year-old Sherlock was truly serious about asserting she was a girl on the inside sometimes and a boy the rest of the time and why couldn't everyone just _understand?_ When Sherlock went for rambles down to the local village, though, everything was fair game. In theory it was all "research" for some nebulous theatrical future. In practice, it was an escape.

Sherlock was thirteen when the daughter of the local grocer went missing. The police swooped in - far more police than Sherlock had ever seen in their village before - and spent a fascinating two and a half days searching before they found her body in the nearby river. At first they all accepted accidental drowning as a reasonable cause of death, but a young officer caught sight of Sherlock spying on them from up in a tree and wouldn't leave until Sherlock came down.

"Did you know her?" the young officer asked. He was in his twenties and already had salt-and-pepper hair, but his eyes were kind. "You two girls look about the same age - did you ever swim in this river together?"

 _Girls._ Sherlock shivered and slid the rest of the way down the trunk. Her shorts were a bit dirty and her hair was coming out of the tiny elastic bands she'd bought with her own money at the chemist when Mummy wasn't looking, but the officer was looking at her without any disapproval in his gaze. Sherlock offered the man one of her very rare smiles . . . and proceeded to outline exactly why the police were wrong.

Even more astounding than the police officer's acceptance of Sherlock's current gender expression was the way he actually listened. When Mummy came to retrieve Sherlock at the end of the day because Sherlock hadn't come home for supper, the officer had a long talk with her just far enough outside the room that he probably thought Sherlock couldn't hear. Some of it was audible anyway, from the right angle.

"Brilliant daughter you have, Mrs. Holmes..."

"He's a boy, don't know why my son insists on..."

"Never corrected me, sorry..."

"Thinks it's a game, wants to be an _actor_ or somesuch nonsense..."

Sherlock had to dash back to her seat on the uncomfortable wooden bench before the officer came back in. Without Mummy, which was nice.

"Your mother made me aware I didn't ask," he said gently, "but I assumed and I shouldn't have. Which pronouns do you prefer?"

Sherlock gaped at him.

"I mean," the man stammered, "the hair and the fact that you didn't say anything when I said 'you two girls' meant I thought . . . never mind. What I meant to say was, if you identify as male and I misgendered you, I apologize. And if you're genderqueer and prefer different pronouns, all you need to do is say so."

This was new. This was something Sherlock had never, ever encountered before. Her world wasn't large enough to included the word "genderqueer" in any of her (limited) research, but the concept of using _other_ pronouns - beyond “him” or “her” - was novel and explosive. "You were fine," Sherlock choked out. "Mummy doesn't approve, but I . . . female pronouns feel appropriate right now."

"Well then." The officer offered her a nod and a very grown-up handshake. "It's been an incredible honor to meet you, Sherlock Holmes. I don't know anyone else - co-workers and other adults included - who would have put the pieces together as neatly as you did. And without access to the official evidence, either. How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Come look me up once you finish school, then." He handed Sherlock his card. Sherlock glanced down at it - Gregory G. Lestrade. "I'd be happy to put in a good word for you if you ever choose to join the force."

Sherlock winced. "Too many rules," she admitted. "I don't believe I'd do well there."

Officer Lestrade grinned. "Become a private detective, then. Self-employed means you can pick your own cases and don't have to pass any licensing tests. Or work with anyone who won't respect you for who you are." He gestured toward the door, where Mummy was clearly still waiting in the hallway. "You're a brilliant kid - don't let your mother's attitude discourage you. And I expect I'll be hearing a lot more about you over the coming years. Make it be for the right things, yeah?"

Sherlock ignored Mummy the entire way home, head too full of new ideas to bother listening. A detective - a private detective. No, a _consulting_ detective. Work with the police but outside their rule system. Where she could be genderqueer and "her" and "him" or something else entirely and Mummy couldn't forbid it.

Sherlock had found a new dream.


End file.
